Roger That, Hawkeye
by Lacrimula Falsa
Summary: The first time it happens, Tony makes him coffee. [AU, Clint/Tony. Complete. For trope bingo, round eight, "power dynamics".]
1. One

**Roger That, Hawkeye  
** _by Lacrimula Falsa_

 ** _Disclaimer_** ** _:_** I do not own any part of the Marvel Cinematic Universe and/or any other Marvel franchise. I write for fun, not for profit. I do not own Starbucks. (Obviously.)

 _Summary:_ The first time it happens, Tony makes him coffee. [AU, Clint/Tony. Complete. For trope_bingo, round eight, "power dynamics".]

 _A/N:_ My first time doing a fanworks bingo, here it is. Round Eight (Amnesty Round) of trope_bingo, using the 'Regular List' public card. This fills the "power dynamics" square in the bottom left corner. My card can be found here: lacrimula-falsa DOT dreamwidth DOT org SLASH 2627 DOT html

For the purpose of this story, Clint isn't married and doesn't have any children, and Tony is single.

* * *

 **One**

The first time it happens, Clint is sprawled on the couch, hogging the common area's giant flat-screen TV.

Stark walks in and immediately makes for the bar, tapping on his smartphone while he fills a glass with something yellowish.  
When he notices Clint, he puts the phone down long enough to ask if he wants something. Clint considers a serious answer for about two seconds before deciding to be a little shit.

"Coffee."

Stark frowns.

"This is a bar, sweetheart, not a Starbucks."

Clint shrugs as best he can while lying down.

"Well you're a genius, you can work something out. Now hop, hop, fetch my coffee."

The insane thing is, Stark does.

Clint stares at the cup filled with steaming brown liquid and frowns.

When he looks up, Stark is gone.

* * *

The second time it happens, Stark has already become Tony, and Clint has all but forgotten about the first time.

Clint is dozing, head pillowed in Natasha's lap and Thor providing superhuman warmth to his front because the (demi?)god has parked himself on the floor in front of the couch.  
It's cosy, and Clint is half asleep.

"Wow, I could really use a foot massage. Running after mutated bugs all day, I swear..."

He's half asleep, so when someone starts to actually knead his feet his first thought is that he's dreaming.  
But he _isn't_ , and ingrained wariness (paranoia, really) makes him shake off the drowsiness to look who's there.

Tony is massaging his feet.

Clint blinks, but the image stays. He can feel Tony's fingers on his toes.

There's an inkling of a suspicion forming in his mind, but he doesn't dare think the thought yet.  
Maybe he's making it up. Maybe it's nothing.

(It's not nothing.)

* * *

But the suspicion festers. Soon enough, Clint is obsessed.

* * *

Tony acts normal.

Clint watches him like a hawk, but the weirdness doesn't repeat itself. Not with Clint, not with the others.  
He doesn't dare voice his suspicion yet, even to himself. It's only happened twice, after all.

S.H.I.E.L.D. agents learn this: twice is coincidence, thrice is a pattern.

* * *

The third time it happens, Clint proves his theory.

It's almost dark outside, the last bit of sun glinting of buildings, and Clint is alone in the common area.  
Tony ambles in, tablet in hand, just as Clint has finally decided which cartoon he wants to watch.

The remote is on the bookshelf where Steve left it. (Steve always leaves stuff in weird places.)

Clint is trained to see openings for good shots. But this is still a shot in the dark despite the golden opportunity.

"Go get the remote."

Tony is halfway across the room before he stops, tenses, and turns around with a frown.

"You can get the remote your damn self, _Merida_."

His voice is pitched to sound annoyed, and it almost works. It goes well with the frown and slightly drawn up shoulders, but the act doesn't quite hold up to Clint's trained eye.

Clint is a sniper, but even more than that Clint is an observer, and this is how he observes best; from a distance. Even if the distance is only a few steps.

 _It's the eyes_ , he thinks. Tony's voice is annoyed, but his eyes are wary. Skittish. ( _Brittle_.)

Clint gets up and for a second he thinks that Tony will bolt. But he doesn't, and after a few steps, silent on the carpet, they're face to face.

For a moment, Clint doubts himself.

But then he remembers the way Tony jut started walking across the room, not a second of hesitation.

Thrice is a pattern.

He tries to make his voice as steady as he can.

"Kneel."

(He almost flinches, remembering Loki's sceptre, but manages to stay still.)

Tony's jaw tenses, his back goes rigid. But he doesn't make a sound or step back, and that's all the confirmation Clint needs.

He doesn't repeat himself. (He doesn't have to.)

Instead, he puts his hands on Tony's shoulders and pushes. (Lightly, but with intent.)

Tony stays put.

Clint doesn't smile, but he wants to. There's something almost childishly petulant about the set of Tony's jaw, his frown, the tension in his shoulders. Fighting for the sake of it, as something reflexive rather than real opposition. A toddler's token protest over bedtime, even if that's an unkind comparison.

But there's also something wary there, in Tony's face.

 _It's the eyes_ , Clint thinks. There's old fear there, the kind of fear that comes from past experiences, and the expectation of pain. Like bracing for a burn when you see the flame, instead of hoping for light and warmth.

It takes less than a second to make the decision. Because Clint remembers the sceptre, and a blue glow that tainted everything, and Loki. He'll never take away someone's choice.

The words are easy because when it comes down to it, it's simple.

"I promise I'm not trying to exploit it."

Eight words. Magic.

Tony can't really be said to crash to his knees because it's not fast and it's not sudden.  
It's more like he folds, slow and careful and hesitant, but it's still like crashing because it feels monumental and inexorable.

And then Tony is kneeling at his feet.

Clint lets out the breath he's been holding, heart beating rabbit-quick in his throat.

It's like all the tension has bled out of Tony's face. His features are calm, a kind of resting face but none that Clint has ever seen. It's serene, almost.

He notices that his hands are still hanging in the air, useless. He touches one to Tony's shoulder, carefully.

"Alright?"

There's a moment of silence where Clint starts to think that he might have to insist on words, but then Tony says

"Alright."


	2. Two

**Two**

So, that happened. Tony kneeling at Clint's feet for about ten minutes, until Clint had told him to get up and go to bed. (Tony went.)

Now, at the dawn of a new day and surrounded by people, Clint's not even one-hundred percent convinced he didn't dream it. But he knows that he was awake and that it was real.

So, that's a thing now.

And Clint's burning, bursting with curiosity. He's back to this almost-obsessed feeling, watching Tony like the hawk that's his namesake, always keeping part of his focus on the other man and trying to keep him in his line of sight.

Because he wants to know, _has_ to know if this thing they have (had?) will hold up to the light of day and to scrutiny. Or if it's just a brittle dream doomed to crumble to dust in the sunlight.

It's Team Breakfast and they're surrounded by the others and there's chatter all around and the radio playing in the background and it's the worst possible moment to find out.

But he _has to know_.

Clint considers phrasing it as a request, but that feels dishonest.

"Tony, get me a bowl of cereal."

He says it quietly, but the others can definitely still hear it.

There's a moment where everyone pauses.

Tony's chair squeaking over the tiles sounds unnaturally loud.

Then there's nothing but the sound of Tony fixing a bowl of cereal while the room holds its breath. The radio plays something jazzy.

After a small eternity, Tony sets the bowl down in front of Clint. It's the organic muesli Bruce buys, sprinkled with blueberries and almonds. Complete with a spoon.  
The dish makes a quiet clinking sound when it hits the table. Clint's heart feels like it's trying to beat up his throat and out of his mouth.

When he looks up, Tony's making that strange almost-serene face again.

Calm brown eyes meet his own.

Clint drops his gaze back to the table, picks up the spoon and starts eating. Tony sits back down and goes back to fiddling with his tablet.

One by one, their team-mates start to move again. Steve curses when he notices that his eggs are burning.

The radio starts playing _Piano Man_.


	3. Three

**Three**

It goes on like that. Clint orders, Tony follows. They should probably talk about it, Clint thinks, but they never do.

He almost says something once or twice, but in the end, he's always afraid that this thing they have will be over as soon as he gives a name to it, like he'll jinx it by saying anything out loud.

So he asks his questions quietly, privately, in his own head to an imaginary Tony.

 _What is this? What do you get out of this? Why do you let me order you around?_

Imaginary Tony never has any answers. At least, none that make sense.

* * *

One day he gets the idea that maybe, he should give something back. A reward, an acknowledgement.

So the next time Tony comes over and stands in front of him when ordered, he says

"Good boy."

He knows that it's the wrong thing almost as soon as he says it because Tony flinches.

Clint takes Tony's hands in his and feels grateful when Tony doesn't pull away.

"Not a good phrase?" (He thinks about his father and Tony's father and thinks ' _go figure_ '.)

Tony smiles, and it's wary. (Brittle.)

"Yeah, maybe don't lead with that."

Clint nods.

"Okay."

* * *

Clint says

"Kneel."

and Tony does.

Tony never says anything except when Clint asks a question (Do you need a safeword? Do your knees hurt?) but he doesn't have to.

It's all there in his eyes.

 _I'm allowing this. I trust you. You can have this as long as I decide it's alright._

* * *

When Clint says

"Can I kiss you?",

Tony says

"Roger that, Hawkeye.".

He's smiling. Serene. (Not brittle at all.)

Clint's heartbeat flutters like a trapped bird.

It's all there in his eyes.

 _I have power here, too._

 **~fin~**


End file.
